Helluva Boss - After the Party

Exes and Blitz-o's

Stolas sat in the dim light of his private study, staring into his glass of wine, though he hadn't touched it in hours. His mind was a muddled fog, heavy with exhaustion and regret, haunted by the echoes of his own recent choices and the feeling of how empty his life had become.More than a week had passed since the party—that party—and yet the bitter aftertaste lingered in his soul.

He exhaled, rubbing his temples, trying to sort through the swirling mess of his memories. The party had wound up being a been drunken whirlwind, but what else could he have expected from something literally called the "Fuck Blitzo" party? It was supposed to be cathartic. A place to vent. Instead, it had only deepened his feelings of shame and hurt.

His mind replayed the scenes in fragmented bursts. He had arrived at the party, intending only to stop by and thank the host for extending an invite. Perhaps being among people, even if they were perfect strangers, would help him not feel so abandoned. The faces had blurred together, though he could still remember some of the laughter, the music, and the bitter remarks about Blitzo that rang through the air. He remembered drinking heavily, hoping that if he drank enough, the pain of losing Blitz would just... vanish. But it hadn't. Instead, it only made everything more confusing.

Stolas winced, thinking back to waking up the next morning. A headache that felt like a hammering weight behind his eyes. The sheets tangled around his body, and next to him—a succubus man he didn't even remember inviting back. He hadn't known the man's name, hadn't even thought to ask. Highly embarrassing. For a prince of Hell, it was low, even by his standards. Or was it? Come to think of it this was hardly the first time he'd done something... well not quite like this but similar enough.

"You've really made a mess of things..." he muttered to himself.

But none of that embarrassment compared to the ache in his chest. The ache that was Blitzy. Stolas couldn't shake the constant pang of regret, the lingering bitterness over how things had ended between them. It was as though every night, every quiet moment, his mind circled back to him. There had been so many moments where he had picked up his phone, fingers hovering over Blitz's contact, ready to send a text, to ask if they could talk. Maybe clear the air. Maybe, just maybe, try again. He'd not let his emotions overwhelm him this time. This time he'd listen... But every time, doubt crept in.

He doesn't want you, a voice in his head would whisper. He's made that clear.

His hand would tremble, and he'd shut his phone off, drowning in the crushing weight of his own self-doubt. He felt pathetic, weak, as though the confident and all powerful Goetia prince he was supposed to be had shriveled into something small and pitiful. All because of one little imp.

He sighed again, deeper this time. His thoughts drifted back to the party, to the moment that stuck out more than the rest. A flash, a whisper of memory, faint and unclear, but there. He remembered seeing Blitz there—but how? Was it a drunken hallucination? A trick of his alcohol-soaked brain? Or had Blitz actually been there? A fragmented memory of the sound of Blitz's voice surface momentarily.

"--look, I-I just really need to... To talk to you, to- to explain–"

Explain what? He couldn't remember the rest of that conversation or if he'd just imagined it.

Stolas cursed under his breath. Why did he have to drink so much? Why did he always resort to the same destructive patterns whenever things went wrong? It was the same thing he had done during his miserable marriage to Stella—years of numbing himself with wine and fancy booze, hoping to escape the reality of the verbal abuse, the constant humiliation, and the suffocating weight of his responsibilities as a prince. The only bright spot in that dark marriage had been Octavia, his daughter. But now, even she was out of his reach, spending time with her mother at Andrealphus' estate while the divorce was finalized.